


Solo Mission

by spikesgirl58



Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:30:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two solitary agents meet up and their lives will never be the same</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solo Mission

Every time you hit a new country, there’s a learning curve.  Some places are very similar to others and it’s easy to fit in.  Others are fairly unique and you must work harder to assimilate.  For me, it’s not just a nicety, it’s a necessity.  I need to be able to walk among a country’s residents and not be given a second glance.  My life has often depended upon my ability to blend in with my surroundings and to be given as much attention as a piece of furniture or a bush - there, but often widely ignored.  I am a spy and invisibility is my greatest defense.

                                                                                ****

I was just coming off a four-month deployment on a 641 sub, a Foxtrot as NATO called it, largely as an official observer, but also because the KGB was less than happy with the political leanings of its current captain.  I was along, undercover of course, to make sure he operated in a manner that best served the State.  Some summer break from school.  After being holed up with a hundred men in a tin can without the ability to blow your nose in private, even Professor Black’s _Theories of Infinite Quantum Horizons_ looked good.

“Illya Nichovetch, please, come and sit down,” General Ryanislova was not a man to mince words, so his open invitation and genteel nature immediately set my teeth on edge and I hurriedly began to mentally retrace my steps for the last few months, wondering  what error I’d made and what I was about to be punished for.  With the KGB, you could never tell.  They would court martial and shoot you because they didn’t like the way you looked at a pigeon or for holding onto a crust of bread too long.  It could have been nothing or, worse, something and I began to fear for Sergei’s safety

“Thank you, Comrade General.”  I sat as requested.  Whether I wanted to or not wasn’t an issue, but considering my pursuits of the previous evening, standing would have been preferable. I ached from my neck down to my knees thanks to my encounter with Sergei the night before, but none of my discomfort was permitted to reach my face.

He poured two large glassfuls of vodka and offered one to me.  “To our future and our glorious state.”

“Our future,” I echoed back and drank carefully. General Ryanislova was reputed to pour only the cheapest of Polish vodka, something said to be akin to paint thinner, but stronger.  But this was the good stuff and I grew even more concerned.  Whatever I was being set up for was substantial.

“We stand on the brink of a great moment, Illya Nichovetch, and you are fortunate to be able to play a large hand in it.”

“I do not understand, Comrade General.”

“We have been approached by an organization and, after careful and considerable debate, it has been decided that it would be to our advantage to cooperate with this group.”

At first I thought he meant the United Nations.  There had been talk of our participation in that, but I didn’t see where I fit into that puzzle.  I was a highly-trained, highly-specialized KGB agent, not an ambassador.

“This organization, it deals with the insurgents of the world, sort of a peace keeping militia.  They ensure orderly compliance for the common good.”

 “And that would benefit us how, Comrade General?”  It was not as if the USSR had a recent history of playing nice with others. 

“This is an international group, made up of several forward thinking countries.”  General Ryanislova’s voice dropped until it was a mere whisper.  “Even the Great Soviet Bear cannot live isolated forever.  Now is the time for us to join forces for our common good, to move forward to the next century.”

That was sound Soviet thinking and I began to rethink my decision of reporting the general.  I could see the attraction to our Government. 

“You have been picked to represent our great nation, Illya Nichovetch.  Out of thousands and thousands of names, yours consistently came first.

That made sense.  They’d been trying to figure out what to do with me ever since they pulled me from my parent’s home as a child and put me into a specialized school.  My problem was that I was too clever for my own good and, even at the school I was out of place.  A natural mimic, I picked up languages frighteningly easily and I had nearly perfect recall.  No bragging, just a statement of fact.  Give me a book on the topic and a few days and I could convince you I was anything from a bricklayer to a musician, a dancer to a high ranking Soviet official.  My ease of assuming different roles both worried and delighted my superiors to no end.  They sent me into the world and I preformed for them, a well-trained monkey on a very long leash.  I might sound like a puppet, but it was far from that.  I knew the fate of my family rested squarely upon my shoulders.  Disappoint my superiors and they suffered.  This I would never do.

Now at twenty three, I had a PhD in Quantum Mechanics and no one knew exactly where I fit.  I’d already lived abroad in both France and England and been around the rest of Europe until it became as familiar as the back of my hand, so they didn’t feel comfortable with me being back in the USSR.  I’d proven reliable, always coming when called ,and that made me a valuable operative outside of the country.

  I was too highly trained for the military, too unpredictable for the GRU or the KGB to be completely at ease with me.  They didn’t trust me to teach as I’d been exposed to outside temptations for too long.  In short, I was a rogue element, one too dangerous to hold on to and yet far too valuable to release.  Apparently, sending me to work for this company was their solution.

“You will be sent to their headquarters in New York.  There, if you are all that we say you are, which, of course, you are, you will be inducted into their group.”

“And the KGB’s stand on this, Comrade General?”

“You are to keep your eyes open and your mouth shut with regards to Soviet policies.  You are to represent us, to support and not compromise your government.  If you agree to this, you will be on your own, there with our blessing, but not our support.  Do you understand?”

“Not entirely, Comrade General.”

“You will break ties, all ties, with the USSR.  You will be allowed access to your family, no one else, especially not… your friend.  Do you understand?”

All too clearly, I was afraid.  They meant for me to abandon Sergei and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.  Still, it wasn’t like I had a choice.  I did this or I would be shot, for one reason or another, along with Sergei and possibly all of my immediate family.  I’d been at this long enough to know what happened to non-cooperative operatives.

“My friend?”

“He will be permitted to live, provided that you have no more contact with him.  And we are not without a heart; we will allow you time to say good bye.”

“Thank you, Comrade General.”

“And Illya Nichovetch?”

“Yes, Comrade General?”

“Do take care.  Your new bosses might not be as understanding or as lenient with your… persuasion.”

“Yes, Comrade General.”

“Go and make yourself ready, you will have two days.”

Two days to say good bye to everyone who meant something to me.  Not surprisingly it was Sergei that was hardest.  He didn’t understand and he was heartbroken, but I knew it wouldn’t be for long.  He was an attractive man and there would be plenty of future opportunities for him to fill his nights, providing the General was telling the truth and Sergei would be allowed to live.  I feared an assassin’s bullet waited for him the moment I stepped foot on the Aeroflot, but, of course, there was no way I would ever know.

                                                                                                ****

Landing in New York was not all that different from London, lots of people speaking way too fast and moving too quickly in too many directions.  I was studying a map when I sensed something that made me suddenly wary.  I glanced around, finally stopping at two men.  They were nondescript, wearing nondescript suits, and working hard to blend into the background and failing miserably, in my opinion.  The last thing they wanted me to do was notice them and, so naturally, it was them I approached.

“You are looking for me, perhaps?”  I purposefully kept the Russian accent out of my voice, relying on my British accent to cover any bits of it that might peek out.

“I don’t think so, fella.”  The speaker was dark haired with interesting eyes.  Even while his words weren’t friendly, his mouth played with a smile, taking the edge off his words.  “We’re waiting for someone more…Russian.”

“Then you have found me, Illya Nichovetch Kuryakin, as requested.”  I clicked forward in a fast bow.

The other,  older man spoke, his voice soft.  “Well, I’ll be a son of a… From what I read, I was expecting an old man and you’re…you’re a kid and you look about as Russian as my grandmother.”

“Then your grandmother has excellent taste.  In a world of uncertainty, it is best for one’s self to be…unknown.”

“Waverly said to expect a horse of a different color.” The dark-haired man spoke again.  “Napoleon Solo, welcome aboard.”  He offered his hand.

I saw neither a horse, nor were we on a ship, but I knew Americans had a flamboyance of speaking that would take time to get used to.  I took the proffered hand and shook it firmly.  My journey had just started.

                                                                                                ****

The next few months were a blur.  Survival School was a challenge, not inasmuch as a physical or mental test, but more of a sense of isolation.  I was given a wide berth; few approached me, none with their hands open in friendship.  To them, I represented the enemy and I was effectively shunned. Don’t misunderstand me, they respected me and were outwardly polite, but I missed the closeness of my own people and, of course, Sergei.  There aren’t words to describe the pain that my heart felt at times as I lay alone in my bed and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the stifling heat of the night to change to the oppressive heat of the day.

 I don’t handle heat well and I ended up being sent to Medical twice for heat stroke.  Why they put their training facilities on a tropical island was beyond me.  They complained that I worked too hard, pushed myself too much, but I knew of no other way.  Back home, you gave your all, or it was taken from you, often in some very unpleasant ways.  And this way it was easier not to think of home or Sergei.

Even with this smear on my record, I came out at the top of the class.  Cutter, the head of the school, held me back to teach some additional classes on explosives, but I felt it more of a punishment than a reward.  The man made no secret of his dislike for me or my people and he worked very hard to make every day as unpleasant for me as possible and the more he piled on me, the more I took.  It was the only way I knew to prove to them I was all that my government claimed I was.  Still. I ached to get back to civilization and as far away from the bug-infested, sun-drenched hell hole as possible.

I returned to New York in November and nearly fainted with relief as the cold greeted me.   While others grumbled, I celebrated and when it started to snow, I was even happier.  This felt much more like home.

I had been assigned a studio apartment that was bigger than the average two-family apartment in Moscow.  My father’s ranking in the military had given him some prestige and we had a bigger than normal apartment, but even that paled in comparison.  All my belongings, such as they were -- you learn to travel light after awhile -- were in place when I walked through the door.  I shopped and settled in. Only then did I see the letters from home. 

Now, in the privacy of my new home, I did something I’d managed to avoid while on the island, something that Cutter hadn’t driven me to, but tried countless times. I broke.   I cried, holding the letters close to my face to smell the paper, closing my eyes to imagine the people who had written them.  Seeing my mother’s familiar handwriting, Vyetka’s childish attempt at English script, even Sergei’s hand – he’d smuggled one in, hidden among the sheets of Svitlana’s letter; it was all suddenly too much for me and a bubble of homesickness overtook me.  I’d often chided my fellow countrymen when they expressed such a weakness, but now I found myself on my knees, surrounded by these mementos from home, sobbing with the reality of what I’d left behind and of what I would never have again.  It was overwhelming and I felt truly lost for the first time in my life.

Then there were arms around me.  Normally I would have rallied and immediately fought against them, but I could hear soft Russian being crooned in my ear and frankly, I was too miserable, too awash in self pity, to care.  Let whoever it was kill me, I no longer cared, and I cried until there was nothing left.

I could feel lips pressed tenderly at my temple and hands roaming my body in a way that I normally wouldn’t permit a stranger, but everyone was a stranger to me now.   I hungered for the touch of another person and shamelessly pressed back against him eager for the contact.

“ _Вы прекрасны_ (You’re fine),” the voice assured me, lips near my ear nuzzling my hair.  “ _Не волнуйтесь, Вы хорошо (_ Don’t worry, you’re okay).”  The hands were moving still, pulling my shirt free of my pants and lightly skimming my skin beneath it.  My body sang at the sensation of being touched.  I hadn’t even permitted myself a quick hand job while on the island; there was even less privacy there than on the submarine, if such a thing was possible.

I let my own hands explore, feeling tight muscle hidden by the carefully crafted jacket.  It was only then that I actually saw who held me and started to break free.

“No, this is wrong,” I said, in English and, not bothering to hide my accent, and pushed away from Napoleon Solo.  Not only was he an UNCLE agent, but also my superior.  For all I knew, this had been some sort of test and probably one I’d failed miserably.  I’d be sent home to be shot for being a degenerate or for showing such obvious signs of weakness.

“ _Как - это неправильно_ (How is this wrong)?”  Solo reached for me again, but now I was on guard and easily eluded his grasp.  “Illya, _скажите мне, как это неправильно_ , (Illya, tell me, how this is wrong)?”  It took me a minute to realize he was still speaking in Russian.  His accent was horrible, but the words were understandable.

“You are my superior.”   I had sworn to myself that I would only speak English here.  If anything, I felt worse now.   Now my whole family would die for my shame.

“Yes, I am, but I’m also a fellow human being.”  He’d gotten closer to me again.  “I don’t know how you did it, leaving everything to come some place where no one wants you, where everyone thinks you’re less of a man and more of a monster, simply because of where you were born.”

“And now you as well.”

“No, not me as well.  I saw someone suffering and wanted to help.”  I was in his arms again and I could feel his body pressing against me, his erection hard against my leg. That was… interesting.  “Let me help you, my friend.   I have what we both need.”    His hand drifted down to the waistband of my pants and I could feel him unbuckling my belt, lowering my fly and releasing my trapped penis.  I was so hungry, so eager, that the mere brush of his fingers made me nearly mad with desire.

Very well, if this was the path we were meant to take, I would not hesitate.  I found his belt and mirrored his moves, entrapping both of our engorged penises in one fist.  Luckily I have large hands that were able to accomplish such a task; neither of us are small men.  I started moving, rubbing against him, feeling the delicious friction of skin on skin.  All the while he was kissing me, murmuring in Russian to me.

I knew I wouldn’t last, but what I didn’t expect was for him to come first.  My hand grew sticky and I heard him moan, felt his penis throbbing in my hand and it was all the impetus I needed to join him.

“Why?” I asked the moment rational thought was again permitted me.  I used my shirt tail to wipe the intermingled semen from our bodies.  We were still kneeling on the floor and I lowered myself to sit, looking at him with as much dignity as I could muster, which, of course, wasn’t much considering the circumstances.

“Why am I here or why did I do this?”

“Yes.”  He reached out again and touched my hair.  I shut my eyes, sore and scratchy from crying, at the sensation.  Sergei loved to play with my hair and for a moment I thought longingly of him and fought back a sense of betrayal of our relationship.  The sadness returned, thickening at the back of my throat until it was an effort to swallow.

He continued after a moment.  “As to why I’m here.  Waverly sent me over.  Seems we are to be partnered.  As to why did I this, I’ve wanted to do this since the minute I saw you.  Your eyes were so sad.  Your dossier admitted to a certain amount of persuasion in this direction without coming right out and saying you were homosexual and I suppose I was hopeful.”   I wanted it and hoped you did as well.  Survival School isn’t easy on any of us and I figured you would have more of a challenge than Joe Blow.”

“Joe Who?”

“A figure of speech.  Waverly told me to get to know you better.  I’d say we’ve taken a big step in that direction.”

“In the Soviet Union, I would be shot for having carnal relations with a superior.”

“Then it’s good that you’re in the U.S of A then, isn’t it?”  His hands were roaming again, learning my body.  “You had someone back home?”

“Yes, if he’s still alive.”  His letter had been months old.  “He hasn’t heard from me and probably fears me dead.”  I sighed.  “And that is how it must be.”

“I can’t believe how brave you are.”

“Brave?  You came upon me wailing like a small child.”

“We all do at times.  I remember the first time I saw combat in Korea.  I saw my buddy from boot camp shot down right beside me.  We were just standing there talking and the next thing I knew, I was wearing his brains all over my uniform.”  He stopped and smiled sadly.  “And I, too, wailed like a small child. It’s a part of being human, Illya.  That’s what separates us from the animals, the fact that we can express sadness.”  He kissed me, his tongue asking for entrance.  “And joy.”  Another kiss and I opened my mouth to his.  “And love.”

I am ashamed to say that I slept in his arms that night, not because I was ashamed of what passed between us, but rather that I felt so comfortable that I could sleep.  Even with Sergei, I never spent the night.  Not since leaving home as a child had I physically spent the night with someone and slept; this man inspired that sort of confidence in me.  And for perhaps the first time in my life and in a country of strangers, someone actually saw me for me, not as a savant, a KGB agent, or even a military officer, but simply as me.  It was a strange and heady feeling and one that I hoped would last for a long time.

I cannot dismiss the connection between us.  It feels as if I was meant to be here, all paths were leading here and having arrived, I celebrated.  It seems eons in the making, but that makes no or little sense to me; but no matter.  I am Russian; I have long since learned to take what is given me and make the best of it.  And for this man, I think I shall try very hard to make the best of it for him as well.  He deserves nothing less.

 

 

                                                                                                *****

 

Solo – for me it’s more than just my name, it’s more of a way of life.  I learned early on that to get involved with someone inevitably meant getting uninvolved a few miles down the road.  My first great love and my marriage ended almost before it began when my wife of a few months was killed in a car accident.  It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, but it was life. It nearly broke me completely and from that point onward, it seemed as if every relationship I entered into was doomed for failure, almost from the start.  Women or men, it didn’t make a difference.  I became the poster child for the one-night stand.

And soon it started coloring my life in other ways as well.  I saw my best friend cut down while we were just talking one morning.  We’d made it through boot camp, through our tour in Korea and we were getting ready to ship home.  He had a wife and little girl he’d only seen pictures of and we were talking about life back in the States.  One minute, he was laughing and carrying on and the next, he was down on the ground, his head blown to bits, with me receiving most of it all over my chest.  The next week or so were sort of a blur as I tried to deal with the trauma of that.  I finally pulled it together, because back then, it was what you did.  You grieved, but you carried on.

After being honorably discharged, I was brought into UNCLE and never looked back.  It was custom made for me.  I sailed through Survival School, much to Cutter’s displeasure, and settled into a good solid career in Section Two. 

Yet, my curse continued and after I saw the second partner killed, folks weren’t as willing to partner up with me.  The strange part was that I seemed to be able to cruise through just about any situation with nary a scratch.  I was a prime example of ‘Unlucky in love, lucky in everything else.’  I became Napoleon Solo, the pariah of Section Two.  No one wanted to work with me and that was just fine with me.

I don’t want you to think that I wasn’t getting any because that was far from the truth.  The best most fellas got was but a drop in the bucket compared to my sex life.  I dated, usually got lucky, but if not, that was okay too.  I didn’t care and for that reason, women were drawn to me like flies to a carcass.  Pretty soon, if one is to believe the rumors, I was sleeping with half the women in New York.  In reality, usually my dates with women ended with some casual fondling and kissing and that was it.  Most people couldn’t even guess at the shape most of my sexual liaisons took and that was fine with me.  The last thing I wanted or needed to explain to anyone was my persuasion.  The Section heads in UNCLE knew and that was enough.

 

It was a bright, sunny day in March, the sort that come along and break your heart, making you think that spring is around the corner when it isn’t.  I’d been summoned to Mr. Waverly’s office and it was playing hell with my stomach.  He’d just taken over from Mr. Allison the year previously and I still wasn’t sure where I stood with him.  I’d been without a partner for the last few months and doing alright for myself.  Hadn’t screwed up and so I couldn’t figure the call.  My assignments came from my Section head, not the Big Man himself.

When I arrived, Ben Paulson was already there and seated.  Ben is a good man, close to retiring from field duty and his last few assignments reflected it.  Once you got this close, they started keeping you closer to home, prepping you for the day that you hung up your badge and did something else.  Frankly, I was glad that was years and years ahead for me as I couldn’t imagine anything that could match being an active agent.

“Ah, Mr. Solo, now that you have arrived, we can begin.”  Mr. Waverly always made you feel that you weren’t operating to your fullest potential.  It was at these moments when I missed Mr. Allison the most, but that’s another story. 

The table spun and folders stopped in front of each of us.  I opened mine and stared at a fact sheet.  Where the photo should be was merely a blank with ‘classified’ printed across it.  I didn’t think you got more classified than UNCLE, but apparently I was wrong.

“For quite some time, gentlemen, we have been in negotiations with the Soviet government in an attempt to persuade them to become part of our organization.  The climate as of late has swung in our favor and they have agreed to send us an agent.”

“And does this agent have a face?” Paulson asked, tapping the empty square for emphasis.

“None that the KGB was willing to share at the moment.  This is one of their top operatives, highly skilled in explosives and deep undercover work, and conversant in nine or more languages.  He’s a sharpshooter, holds black belts in various martial arts as well as a PhD in Quantum Mechanics.”

Paulson let out a low whistle.  “Talk about your over-achievers.  From the University of Moscow?”

“Cambridge University.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yes, indeed.”  You could tell by Waverly’s dry tone he didn’t appreciate Paulson’s comment.  “We know only that he will arrive here on the 12th.  Study the rest of the file and be prepared to meet with him at La Guardia that evening.”

“Sir?”  I couldn’t help but speak up.

“Yes, Mr…. uh, Solo?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are they sending us their top agent?  If this guy is so good, why don’t they want to hold on to him?”

“I rather suspect they are hoping we might come to the conclusion that he is representative of all their operatives and grow more cautious in our dealings with them.”

“Surely they know how he’s bound to be treated.  We aren’t exactly bosom buddies with the USSR at the moment.  There won’t be an operative here who won’t look at him with suspicion and concern.”

“It will not be pleasant for him, not until he has proven himself loyal to UNCLE above anyone else.  They must feel he has the strength of resolve to see it through.  Dismissed.”

Paulson waited until we were clear of Waverly’s office before muttering, “Christ, Cutter is going to have a field day with him.  The only thing he hates more than THRUSH is commies.”

“I know, I made the mistake of letting him find out I spoke Russian.  I pulled extra assignments for a month before he was convinced I was apple pie and country loving.”

“That must be why you were slated for this pick up.  Just in case he can’t speak the language so good, you can translate.”

I smiled at his comment, but shook my head.  “He picked up his PhD in England; I suspect he doesn’t have any trouble with the language.”  Rather, I suspected it had something to do with one line on the dossier, something Paulson hadn’t picked up, under sexual preference.  It wasn’t any secret that we used sex as much as any other tool in our war against THRUSH and other evil doers, but there were only a few of us that were fingered for special assignments.  Our dossiers merely read, ‘indeterminate’ under sexual preference, as did this new guy’s.  This might be interesting, depending on what he looked like.  Even I have standards and don’t just sleep with every guy I meet.

 

So we headed out to La Guardia on the 12th and waited.  The plane was late; no surprise there. Aeroflot doesn’t exactly have a ‘on time’ record.  The plane unloaded and I scanned the crowd for a likely subject.  No one had that look about him.  Most of the passengers were too old, too young or too female for what we were looking for.

Then I noticed this kid watching us and I purposely kept from meeting his eye.  He was blond, thin and way too young for my tastes.  Never the less, he approached us.

“You are looking for me, perhaps?”   I found myself wonder how a Brit got into and out of Moscow, but that was his business, not mine.

“I don’t think so, fella.”  I said, smiling to take the sting out of the brush off.   “We’re waiting for someone more…Russian.”

“Then you have found me, Illya Nichovetch Kuryakin, as requested.”  He dipped forward in a fast bow.

Paulson’s mouth dropped.   “Well, I’ll be a son of a… From what I read, I was expecting an old man and you’re…you’re a kid and you look about as Russian as my grandmother.”

“Then your grandmother has excellent taste.  In a world of uncertainty, it is best for one’s self to be…unknown.”

I started to chuckle.  I didn’t know much more about this guy than printed words on a page, but already I liked him.  He had balls, even if he didn’t look old enough for them to have dropped yet.  “Waverly said to expect a horse of a different color.  Napoleon Solo, welcome aboard.”  I offered him my hand and he took it in a firm handshake.  There may not have looked like there was much to him, but it was obviously all muscle.

Even after we dropped him back at UNCLE HQ for debriefing, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.  He looked like he belonged back in high school, not working for the KGB.  He looked so young, except for his eyes.  They looked as if they’d seen the very ugly underbelly of the world and left a little bit of him there.  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t forget his eyes.

The months went by, days bleeding into weeks as they so often do.  I managed a promotion to the number two spot of Section Two and was feeling pretty darn good about that.  We got Paulson out the door and resettled into Research and Development.  I had some successful missions and life was humming along. 

In accordance with my new position, I was allowed to read the weekly reports on the new recruits.  My eye kept finding one name consistently at the top of the classes, tops in marksmanship, the little bastard even bettered my record, tops in hand-to-hand, tops in all his classes.  He spent a few days in Medical following a bout of sunstroke, but hell, we all did that once on the island.  It was practically a rite of passage.

It was when I read Kuryakin had gone down with a second, more serious case of it that I blew my stack.

“Son of a…” I caught myself just in time.  My superior, Mr. Hamilton, glanced over from his desk and cocked an eyebrow.

“Napoleon, I’ve never known you to lose your temper.  What has you all fired up?”

“Oh, it’s Cutter and his antics again.  Kuryakin is back down with another case of sunstroke.”

“Again?  Usually one is enough for most agents and they back off.”

“Cutter isn’t very fond of Soviets, I can only imagine what sort of hell he’s piling on our Russian recruit.”

“And this concerns you?”

“You’ve read the reports.  He’s already a competent agent; he was before we sent him there and now Cutter is working his damnedest to ruin our chances to gain ground with the Soviets.  I can just see them when we tell them their very best agent died from heat stroke before he ever got a chance to start.  We can kiss any future cooperation from them good bye.  _Merde…_ ”

“I’ll have a word with Waverly.  He’s worked too hard on this partnership with the USSR to jeopardize it for one of Cutter’s little power plays.  Thanks for bringing it to my attention, Napoleon.”

“Sir.”  I didn’t bother to tell him it was because I knew for a fact that everyone else was making Kuryakin’s life hell as well there.  Survival School was a time to form bonds and I’d wager a month’s salary that no one even talked to him unless they had to.  He should have never been sent there.

The new recruits graduated and I waited for Kuryakin’s return, but Cutter and one more trick up his sleeve and held him there to teach some explosive classes.  We couldn’t wait to get off that island after graduating; I could only guess at his frustration of being held over.

 

It was about mid November and I was half heartedly working through a pile of assignment folders when my phone rang. It was Mr. Waverly asking me to join him.  I’d long since gotten used to being summoned to his office now.  Being in my current position, I now saw him on a daily basis.

“Mr. Solo, do join us,” he said the minute my foot hit the threshold.  Mr. Hamilton was already there and staring at the table top; this was a very bad sign.  Something big was coming.

“ _Вы говорение русски_ (You speak Russian)?”  Yes, I did, but I was surprised Waverly did as well.

“ _Да сэр, конечно_. (Yes, sir, of course.)”

“Я _назначаю Вас Kuryakin как ваш партнер. Выньте его и покажите ему работу._ (I am assigning you Kuryakin as your partner.  Take him out and show him the job).”

I kicked back into English.  “But, sir, my past record…”

“Is past,Mr. Solo.  This is not a debate.  You are partnered with Kuryakin until such a time that I see fit.  Do you understand?”

Like I had a choice.  “Yes, sir.”

“Get to know him, Mr. Solo, put him through his paces and let’s see what we’ve gotten ourselves into here.”  Waverly fumbling with some papers.  “And go easy on him, Mr. Solo.  He could probably use a friend right about now.”

My feelings as well, but I’d be damned if I’d let him know that. “Where is he, sir?”

“Here in New York.  He arrived back last night.  We gave him some time off to acquaint himself with his new home.”

 

 _Get to know him_ , I thought as I got off the creaky little elevator in the brownstone building.  It was one of several that UNCLE owned throughout the city, although I’d not been in this particular building.  I thought it was chintzy that UNCLE had assigned him a studio, but it was probably huge compared to what he was used to. He’d have vapor lock with a regular sized one.

I found his door and stopped.  There was a noise inside; I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.  Something about it sounded…well, wrong and instead of knocking, I used my key and slipped in.

Kuryakin was sitting in the middle of a pile of paper, sobbing his heart out.  Cutter hadn’t broken him, the training hadn’t broken him, but a few letters from home had dropped him.  He hadn’t even heard me come in as wound up in his sorrow as he was.  Wide open to attack and he looked as if he would welcome it.

I acted on impulse; it’s what I do.   Sometimes it blows up in my face, but mostly, it works to my advantage.  I moved forward, knelt, slid my arms around him and just held on.  At first, I felt him tense, then relax and he just let the tears pour from him.  It was a risk touching him, for he was a fully-trained agent now, but he didn’t react at all, except to cling tighter to me and sob. Poor guy, I couldn’t even imagine what a beating his self image would take once he’d recovered his control.

God help me, I don’t know why, but I kissed his temple, the way my Mom used to sooth me when I went to her for comfort and rubbed his back.  Soviets are a very tactile society and I wagered he’d not felt the touch of a friendly hand for several months.

 “ _Вы прекрасны_ (You’re fine),” I assured him, nuzzling his ear and hair.  “ _Не волнуйтесь, Вы хорошо (_ Don’t worry, you’re okay).”  I was shocked to realize that I was digging beneath the light shirt he wore, rubbing my hands over his torso in an all too familiar way, but I could see him responding to me in a glorious and equally forward way.  Then he pulled back slightly, saw me, and it was as if he’d been burned.

 “No, this is wrong,” he said, in perfect, but thickly-accented, English.  He shoved me away, even while the tears were still drying on his cheeks.

“ _Как - это неправильно_ (How is this wrong)?”  I reached for him, but he was having none of it and kept an arm’s length away.  “Illya, _скажите мне, как это неправильно_ , (Illya, tell me how this is wrong)?”  I tried again.

“You are my superior.”  

“Yes, I am, but I’m also a fellow human being.” Since he insisted on speaking English, I switched back.   I’d managed to get a little closer and I could see the hunger, the loneliness and sadness in his eyes. He was as close to the breaking point as an agent could get and still be an agent.   I decided that maybe a little honesty was needed. "I don’t know how you did it, leaving everything to come some place where no one wants you, where everyone thinks you’re less of a man and more of a monster simply because of where you were born.”

“And now you as well.”

Without a word, his hand had trapped us both and was moving easily.  Now frottage was nothing new to me, but this was the most erotic thing I’d ever felt.  When I arrived, sex was the farthest thing from my mind…well, maybe not exactly the farthest, but it wasn’t foremost.  Now it was all I could think of and I’m not known for being a shy lover.  I started kissing him, mumbling encouragements in Russian to him and letting him set the pace.

Normally I can go the limit, but I didn’t want to this time nor did I think it was what he needed.  I let him see just what his touch meant and let myself come far sooner than I would normally.  He was right behind me and we both collapsed onto the cheap carpet, looking silly and a little sheepish.

I mean, Waverly had told me to get to know him, but I’m thinking this wasn’t exactly what he meant.

 “Why?” he asked after a long moment.  Practical minded, he’d cleaned us up using his shirt tail.

 “Why am I here or why did I do this?”

“Yes.” 

I reached out and touched his hair.  It was silky soft, much longer than most of us wore our hair and I wondered how he’d gotten past Cutter and those clip happy bastards on the island.  At my touch, he closed his eyes again and looked as if he was going to be physically ill.  I knew I needed to say something to break through his misery and whatever misconceptions he had going on inside his head.

 “As to why I’m here.  Waverly sent me over.  Seems we are to be partnered.  As to why did I this, I’ve wanted to do this since the minute I saw you.  Your eyes were so sad.  Your dossier admitted to a certain amount of persuasion in this direction without coming right out and saying you were homosexual and I suppose I was hopeful.  I wanted it and hoped you did as well.  Survival School isn’t easy on any of us and I figured you would have more of a challenge than Joe Blow.”

“Joe Who?”  He looked openly confused.

“A figure of speech.  Waverly told me to get to know you better.  I’d say we’ve taken a big step in that direction.”

“In the Soviet Union, I would be shot for having carnal relations with a superior.”  Ah ha, that was part of the trouble.  He thought he would be punished for this, even though I’d been the one to instigate it.

“Then it’s good that you’re in the U.S of A then, isn’t it?”  I started touching him again; I couldn’t help myself.  Then I saw his wedding ring.  “You had someone back home?”

“Yes, if he’s even still alive.  He hasn’t heard from me and probably fears me dead.”  His sigh was deep and heartfelt.  “And that is how it must be.”

“I can’t believe how brave you are.”

“Brave?  You came upon me wailing like a small child.”

“We all do at times.”  I needed to do a little reassuring of my own.   “I remember the first time I saw combat in Korea.  I saw my buddy from boot camp shot down right beside me.  We were just standing there talking and the next thing I knew, I was wearing his brains all over my uniform.”  I smiled sadly at the thought.  Even after all these years, I still missed Sammy.  “And I, too, wailed like a small child. It’s a part of being human, Illya.  It’s what separates us from the animals, the fact that we can express sadness.”  I kissed him, teasing his lips with my tongue, begging entrance.  “And joy.”  Another kiss and he opened his mouth to me. "And love.”

 

That night I knew what it was like to be alive again.  Even after all these years of thinking I was just fine and screwing everything that came along, I realized the truth.  I’d been on hold emotionally, as if waiting for someone to let me know if was all right to love again.  After we’d exhausted ourselves and he was sleeping in my arms, I realized I’d found that in Illya.

And in the morning, when we woke up and made love again, for this was far more than just sex now, I knew  an Act of Congress, a formal declaration of war, or even a nuclear bomb wouldn’t make me let go of him and or rob me what I felt when I was with him.  I was being given a second chance at happiness and this time, I was holding onto it.  And God help anyone who tried to take my partner away from me.


End file.
